


rake the springtime across your sheets

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Secret Relationship, Twitter, handjobs, honestly this is just bogus twitter induced hysteria, the general concept of Being In The Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But maybe that is what love is, Eric thinks: You give people the power to spill your secrets to anyone and your guts out on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rake the springtime across your sheets

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [reserve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve) for confirming my deep belief in the existence of this secret relationship, and thank you to [defcontwo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo) for the beta, and everyone else on twitter who goes along with me going bananas over these sweet boys.

Imagine this:

 

They are happy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

When it all happens, Bitty stops tweeting about Jack.

 

It’s easier than he thought, in the end. Turns out that kissing Jack--holding Jack’s hand, sitting beside Jack on the couch, their thighs pressed together, warm and solid and real--it’s all enough for Bitty.

 

It’s more than he ever expected, if he’s honest.

 

He’s never--well. Not with anyone, really, before Jack, and at first he thinks that maybe that’s why it all feels so cozy and bubbly and, he can admit, a bit embarrassing. Except, it stays that way; they grow into it and each other and themselves more and more, and it’s the easiest thing Bitty has ever done in his life.

 

Being with Jack. Liking Jack. Dating him, in secret or whatever. It’s amazing, and Bitty always catches himself smiling at his phone screen, but unable to type anything.

 

Not that he could type anything if he were able to find the words anyway.

 

They’re not out to anyone on the team, and they can’t be out to anyone else. Jack is going to be signing with Providence as soon as he graduates and,well. Bitty gets it.

 

Shitty gives Bitty’s arm a light pat as he comes into the kitchen, knocking Bitty from his daydream.

 

“What’re you smilin’ about, Bits?”

 

Bitty shakes himself. “Nothing. Twitter,” he says, because his phone is still in his hand.

 

Shitty makes a humming noise in the back of his throat as he pops the cap off his bottle of Carlsberg.

 

Eric wants to say, “I like Jack so much,” and he wants to say, “He drooled on me while he was napping, the other day,” and he wants to say a million other things to a million other people.

 

What he does, instead, is respond to a tweet about whether or not the team all sit together in their lecture: they do, and he types out their seating arrangement, as unofficial as it is.

 

Generally they just file down the aisle and sit beside whomever they’d walked into the lecture hall with. It changes almost every day, but Bitty taps out the most recent arrangement.

 

He understands the curiousity. His followers are like his friends, kind of. He talks to them, they talk back. They care about him, and he went from talking about Jack a lot to, well, not. They worry about him, they want him to be happy.

 

Bitty wishes he could just type out, _I’m happy. Everything is ay-okay._ He doesn’t, can’t, but it doesn’t bother him.

 

He _is_ happy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Jack is with his thesis advisor and his meeting runs late. Bitty is in line to order his lunch when his phone vibrates in his hand.

 

 _probably going to miss team lunch_ , it says.

 

Before Bitty is able to type a response, Jack adds, _sorry. annie’s after your seminar? i have to take some photos but i’m otherwise free._

_I’ll text you when I’m leaving class_ , Bitty types out, one handed.

 

When he walks up to the table where the rest of the team is sitting, they all look like they’re talking over each other. Then Shitty spots him, waves, and nearly yells, “Hi Bits!”

 

The whole team stops talking at once, Chowder’s eyes wide. Eric sits in the empty chair beside Ransom, and looks at them.

 

“What?” He asks, because it’s weird and it’s awkward. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say; he remembers high school, whispers and gossip and shoulder checks into lockers, but--

 

“Where’s Jack?” Holster asks, and Shitty punches him in the arm.

 

Ransom starts to snicker, and Chowder is staring resolutely at his lunch. Holster and Shitty are trying to hit each other.

 

“How would I know,” Eric says, defensive. He had assumed Jack would’ve told the rest of them he wasn’t going to be there, too.

 

“Thesis meeting,” Lardo says, checking her phone. “Must be running late.”

 

Bitty’s phone goes buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out.

 

He swipes to clear the notification from Jack, but opens twitter instead. He types, _That moment when half your team immediately stops whispering about something when you sit down for lunch. Hm._

Later, when he checks his texts from Jack, it’s just five camera emojis, followed by a thumbs up and a coffee cup.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

It’s not perfect. It’s not always easy.

 

But for every moment that Eric feels like he’s suffocating, there is something else, now. When he has three midterms in two days, and doesn’t sleep for what feels like a week, it’s harder than usual. He feels awful about everything, and when he walks into the Haus, all he wants to do is flop down on the couch and lay his head in Jack’s lap. He wants to close his eyes, smell Jack’s laundry detergent on his clothes, feel Jack’s hand in his hair.

 

He can’t, because that’s how it is. That’s how it has to be.

 

And so Jack smiles at him when he walks in the door, says, “How’d it go?”

 

Bitty closes his eyes, tries to breathe, and turns the corners of his mouth up, even though he knows it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Okay, I think,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”

 

Jack comes into Bitty’s room a short while later. Bitty hears the door open and then click shut again, but he doesn’t turn from where he’s laying in bed, eyes fixed on the wall.

 

Softly, Jack says, “Bitty?”

 

Bittle wants to answer, wants to say any number of things, but he just squeezes his eyes together more tightly.

 

Jack doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t sigh. He pulls the comforter up and slides in behind Eric and scoots in close. Jack runs his hand down Eric’s arm before reaching around him and running soft circles on the back of Bitty’s hand. Jack pulls his knees up behind Bitty’s and Bitty, fucking finally, feels like he can breathe again.

 

“Sorry,” Jack says. Bitty can feel Jack pressing his nose into the back of Eric’s neck, and he reaches for Jack’s hand slowly.

 

“It’s not,” Bitty starts, but it comes out hoarse. He coughs softly, and tries again. “I’m just tired. Long week.”

 

Bitty can feel Jack physically relax against him, and when he thinks about it, he realizes he actually feels better. “We can nap for a few hours,” Jack says, his voice nearly captain-like, but softer, too.

 

When they’re alone, now, Bitty feels like they exist in a vacuum, a bubble. It’s soft and it’s quiet and it’s everything the rest of the world isn’t.  After what feels like a long time, when Bitty’s eyes are heavy-lidded and Jack’s breath is even, Bitty says, “I know it’s stupid, but I missed you.”

 

He doesn’t think Jack is even awake, which is probably why the words were able to escape his mouth before they’d even formed in his mind, but he feels better for saying it all the same.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Here’s the thing:

 

Eric is gone on Jack, and Jack is gone on Eric.

 

Nothing else is really important, at the end of the day.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Bitty has no intentions of asking Jack to come out for him, he would never ask that of Jack, who has enough to deal with from the NHL.

 

And so when Jack says, “I’d like to, eventually, you know, say something. But, probably not for a while. Not for years. I’m not ready for that,” it’s a surprise.

 

Eric can feel his eyes going wide, but he tries to keep his tone casual. “Just do what’s best for you at the time.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

Jack’s legs are tense and shaking with tension under Bitty, who is straddling Jack on Eric’s bed. Bitty pushes back on Jack’s chest until he lets his weight fall back, collapsing onto the bed behind him.

 

Bitty manages to get Jack’s fly open while mouthing at Jack’s neck and it’s, God, it’s a lot.

 

Jack is really responsive. He’s not loud, exactly, but he’s always saying something: groaning or laughing or whispering Bitty’s name or cut-off curses in French.

 

Jack’s hands are up the back of Eric’s t-shirt, and he gasps when Eric bites softly at Jack’s collarbone. Bitty presses his palm against Jack’s erection at the same time he sucks Jack’s earlobe into his mouth, and Jack’s hips sputter up into Bitty.

 

“Jesus,” Jack says, and Bitty presses down on Jack again.

 

Jack pulls Bitty’s face up towards his own, and slams his mouth to Bitty’s, hard.

 

It’s not a good kiss, by any standard, but Bitty loves it all the same. Jack runs his tongue along Bitty’s lip, as if Bitty needs convincing to open up his mouth to Jack. They kiss for a long moment, all teeth and tongues, while Jack cants his hips up into Bitty’s palm.

 

Bitty pulls away to breathe, his breath coming in fast pants, and when he’s about to suggest Jack taking his pants off, the front door slams shut and Shitty yells, “Jack! You home? Froyo time, you beautiful man baby!”

 

Bitty groans but pulls back from Jack quickly.

 

“Fuck,” Jack says into his hands. He adjusts himself in his pants and does up his fly. His cheeks are burning red, and Bitty can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. Jack glares at him, blue eyes full of fire, and Bitty thinks, _shit_.

 

“Two minutes,” Jack yells down to Shitty. “I’ll put on pants.”

 

“‘Swasome,” Shitty yells back.

 

“Sorry,” Jack says. “You gonna join?”

 

Bitty shakes his head, softly, and smiles at Jack. “I’d better not. I don’t think I could keep my hands off you. I might go for a run.”

 

Jack nods. “Okay,” he says, and kisses Bitty, close mouthed and so soft. When he pulls away, his eyes are closed, and Bitty’s throat feels tight. Jack’s eyelashes fan out over his pale skin, and Bitty, sometimes, can’t believe this is his life. “See ya,” Jack says, and pulls away.

 

The moment is so quick to go, but the softness is still there. “See ya,” Eric says, but he thinks it maybe means something else.

 

When he hears Jack and Shitty leave the house, he pulls out his phone and tweets _I have got to get out of this house with this boy._

 

He gets changed into shorts and a sweatshirt, pulls on his running shoes. He puts in his earbuds and goes to pull up his pump up playlist when he sees the tweet already has a bunch of favorites and responses. He panics, and deletes the tweet.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thing is, Bitty has liked Jack for longer than he’s known that he likes Jack.

 

When he realized that he was actually interested in Jack, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, everything else made a lot more sense as soon as he was willing to admit to himself that he had feelings for Jack other than just friend feelings or teammate feeling. Eric knows that Shitty has a protective streak that’s a mile long, especially where Jack is concerned, and so while Eric had known he’d do a lot for Jack, pretty much anything for him, he wasn’t sure why he felt it so fiercely until he understood.

 

So now, he doesn’t know where he’s at, really. He knows he likes Jack. A lot. _A lot_ , a lot.

 

But Eric has never had a relationship before. How do you know if you love someone, for real?  He doesn’t want to stoop so low as to filling out a buzzfeed quiz, but he’s genuinely curious.

 

Jack is as affectionate as Bitty thinks he’s capable of. Which is a lot, actually, but Jack has a hard time with his words, Bitty knows.

 

And so.

 

Bitty knows that Jack likes him, knows that Jack is serious. They’ve talked about that much, at least. That Jack wants to stay in Providence at least until Bitty is done with school, maybe longer. That he considers Bitty’s opinion on his career decisions important, that he wants Bitty to be happy and proud and safe.

 

And, Bitty knows, Jack trusts him a hell of a lot. Jack doesn’t want to ruin his chances at playing hockey, doesn’t want to risk a relapse, but he wants to be with Bitty anyway. He’s not ready to be the first out queer player in the NHL, but he’s willing to be, one day.

 

Eric knows that it’s not all just about him, that this is mostly about Jack, that it belongs to Jack where all the things that make Jack himself belong. Eric knows that that part of him is snug along the inside of Jack’s ribs, next to the memory of his mother’s voice saying, “I’m proud of you, baby;” next to the feeling of scoring in a high pressure game; next to his nonsensical reasoning as to why Tide is the best laundry detergent, no questions asked. Eric knows all this about Jack, and knows that while Jack shared it with him, it’s not his.

 

But maybe that is what love is, Eric thinks: You give people the power to spill your secrets to anyone and your guts out on the floor. You know they could do it, but you tell them anyway, and they don’t, because they love you back.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

They go to Lardo’s art show, and even though the entire team is there, it feels like a date.

 

Are they even dating, Bitty wonders, if they never go on dates? Or, well--maybe they do go on dates. Coffee’s at Annie’s and studying in the library, ankles and knees knocking the entire time.

 

Jack takes one look at the fuzzy, pink installment near the back of the exhibit and he looks at Bitty, all mischief.

 

“I don’t understand this,” Eric says, and Jack’s face splits into a shit eating grin.

 

“I’m going in,” he says, and Bitty starts to say, “What?” But Jack is already half way into the exhibit and then he’s gone, and Bitty is laughing so hard that he has to try to catch his breath.

 

“Jack, oh my God,” he says. “Get out of there.”

 

Just as Bitty composes a tweet about Jack going into the installation, Jack’s head pops out from the small entrance. “Bitty,” he says, near laughter. “There’s a TV in here.”

 

Eric looks around, but no one is watching. He nods, and kneels to crawl into the disaster art piece behind Jack.

 

The TV doesn’t work--it’s just static among the rest of the junk in the small space--but when Jack leans into Eric’s space and kisses him softly, Eric decides the junk, all together, is definitely a masterpiece.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

Dex and Nursey are watching the Aces game on a laptop in the kitchen while Bitty’s trying to make dinner. Jack comes in part way through, asks, “Anything I can do to help?”

 

Bitty’s in a mood after listening to Kent’s interview during the first intermission but Jack either hasn’t noticed Dex and Nurse watching, or he doesn’t care. “Do you want caesar salad or just greens?” Eric asks.

 

“Isn’t caesar salad, like, really bad for you?” Nursey asks.

 

“You’ll eat a whole pie in a sitting but you don’t want caesar salad?” Jack chirps, not looking away from Bitty. “I could go for caesar, actually,” Jack says. “What else are you making?’

 

“Chicken burgers,” Bitty says. “You can spin the romaine and then slice veggies for the burgers?”

 

“Uhm, Jack?” Dex pipes up from the table. “Will Kent Parson be coming by here around playoffs? Or for when you and Shits graduate?”

 

Jack’s hand stills, but his shoulders don’t tense and his breathing seems slow; if Eric didn’t know to look, he wouldn’t notice. “I don’t know,” Jack says.

 

“If the Aces make the playoffs I guess he won’t be able to,” Dex says, not noticing any of the tension in Jack. “But I guess that’s win-win for you either way, eh?”

 

Jack goes back to slicing tomatoes in thin rounds, and says, “Yeah, I guess.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Later, when Jack is looming over Bitty, his breath hot across Eric’s face, his hand wrapped around them both, it feels heavy.

 

Usually they laugh a lot, when they’re fooling around. This is, well, intense. It’s good; Eric can feel tension and pleasure building in the base of his spine and Jack’s weight over him is the best thing in the world; the points where their bodies touch matter more than any points in the history of lines and planes and crossroads. But Eric can barely breathe for how much it all matters.

 

That he’s touching Jack; that Jack is touching him back; Jack leaning on his left arm as his right hand works over them, his weight all on his forearm, his fingers just brushing along the top of Eric’s head; Eric’s left hand wrapped around Jack’s bicep. He moves the fingers of his right hand to brush down the side of Jack’s cheek, and Jack’s eyes fall shut, and it somehow means more; over and over, it feels like it’s so much bigger than them both, whatever _it_ is.

 

Bitty’s hips grind up into Jack’s grip, and Jack says, “Fuck.”

 

It comes out raspy, and Bitty leans up to kiss Jack, open mouthed and desperate. “Please,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, too, but he doesn’t care. “Please,” he says again, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he keeps asking all the same. Jack kisses him back, bites at Bitty’s lip, and they manage to maintain a desperate rhythm.

 

Jack’s hand over both their cocks starts to stutter, falter and speed up again, erratic in a way that nothing about Jack ever is. Bitty’s hand on Jack’s arm reaches around Jack’s shoulder, presses into Jack’s back with force, and his right hand moves from Jack’s cheek to his hair. He tugs at Jack’s hair as he presses down on Jack’s back as much as he’s able, and Jack’s hips press forcefully into Bitty’s.

 

“Jack,” Eric says, muffled by where Jack’s mouth is latched onto Bitty’s.

 

Jack comes hard between them, and then Bitty feel his toes curl in, the pleasure firing up his spine, and then he comes all over Jack’s hand, breathing hard.

 

Jack’s hand pulls back from between then, and he wipes it on the sheets beside them. Eric rests his head back, and tries to focus on catching his breath. Jack presses his face into the space where Bitty’s neck meets his shoulder, and slowly relaxes until his weight is mostly resting on Bitty.

 

Eric cards his fingers through Jack’s hair slowly, and when Jack doesn’t move, he asks, “You okay?”

 

Bitty thinks he can feel Jack nod against him, but he stops moving his hand and pulls softly at Jack’s hair. Jack looks up at him, and opens his eyes. “I’m okay,” Jack says, and rolls onto his back beside Eric.

 

Just as Eric is about to say, “That was--” Jack says, “Are you?”

 

It’s awkward for half a second before Jack says, “you go.”

 

“I--” Eric starts, then says, “I’m good. I, yeah. That was just. A lot. I don’t know how to explai--”

 

“I love you,” Jack says, all in a breath. “You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s probably crazy, it’s--”

 

It hits Bitty, then, that Jack gets it. He rolls onto Jack, his hands bracketing Jack’s face, and kisses him, close mouthed, and Jack starts to smile.

 

“Jack,” Eric says. “I-- me too, oh my,” and Jack kisses him quiet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Later, when they start to tell people--Shitty and Momma Bittle and Georgia and a few others--they say that it happens slowly. They say it was as easy as breathing.

 

That’s not how it goes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The first month of Bittle’s spring semester has been, frankly, shit.

 

He’s moody and the whole team bullied their way into his food class and he’s sad about everything.

 

He’s not mad at the team, if anything he’s happy they’re in the class with him. It’s just--

 

He’s trying to find a way to either (a) talk to Jack about what happened with Kent and him over hearing and how Eric definitely absolutely will not say anything to anyone or (b) avoid Jack like the plague.

 

Neither are working.

 

He can feel his mood getting worse and worse, and the closer the calendar gets to Valentine’s day, the worst he feels. Even Shitty’s explanation of heteronormative, capitalist manipulation of the lonely masses doesn’t really lift Bitty’s mood.

 

“I know it’s a stupid holiday,” he says, “but I still don’t like being alone.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

What happens is this:

 

Bitty is cleaning up after baking cupcakes for the team when Jack corners him in the kitchen. He’s standing behind Eric near the sink, and says, “Bittle, what’s wrong?”

 

He doesn’t meet Jack’s eye, and says, “nothin’.”

 

Jack winces, and then sighs. “I’m not--” he starts, then huffs a breath and says, “I’m not asking as your captain, okay? I’m asking as...as someone who cares about you. Bitty.”

 

“It’s nothing, Jack, please,” Bitty says, and suddenly his face feels hot and he can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

 

“I--Bitty, come on,” Jack says, and he reaches out for Bitty, puts his hands on Bitty’s shoulders. Bitty shakes his head, no, but it’s barely a movement, and Jack says, “you gotta tell me if I’m wrong,” before leaning down and pressing his lips softly to the corner of Bitty’s mouth.

 

It’s the softest thing in the world, Jack’s mouth a warm and barely there pressure. Jack’s hands slide down Bitty’s arms until they’re circling his wrists, and Bitty sighs. Jack’s mouth shifts against Eric’s, and their lips slide together, finally.

 

“Jack,” Bitty whispers, and then Jack says, “oh my God,” and deepens the kiss as he presses Bitty back into the counter behind them.

 

From there, it’s easy.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title of taken from neko case's song _this tornado loves you_.
> 
> on [tumblr//](http://www.bittyjack.tumblr.com).


End file.
